‘No. She’s not well. She’s got a temperature, and I’ve told her to stay in bed today. And she’s going home at the weekend.’
‘What?’ Ed looks up in amazement. ‘As in permanently? She’s not even been here a month! Is this Headwig all over again?’
‘No. She’s homesick, but it’s much more than that. She’s completely freaked out. Show me how a grown-up boy eats his toast, James!’ I kiss the top of his head and sit down at the table.
‘Get down please, Mummy?’
I get back up again. ‘Have you had enough? Then of course you can, darling. Can you say, “Thank you for my breakfast”?’
‘You’re welcome,’ James says as I lift him down.
I smile at that, in spite of everything, and look at Ed to see if he heard – but if he did, he completely ignores it. ‘Can we talk to her, try and change her mind? It’s really bad for James, all this chopping and changing.’
‘No. I’m pretty sure she’s going on Saturday.’ I watch James toddle over into the playroom and pick up his Thomas the Tank Engine as I sit back down again. ‘I doubt she’ll be well enough to travel tomorrow, and if it’s the weekend you’ll be off and can drive her to the airport, or have James while I do it – which would make life much easier.’
‘OK.’ He shrugs helplessly. ‘If that’s what you’ve agreed.’
‘When she thought she was going to be here by herself while we drove James over to your mum’s, she was terrified. I had to explain to her that I’d be here with her and she didn’t need to panic.’
‘I’ll be here you mean. You need to take James. The two of you can’t be here on your own. I’m not comfortable with that. I want to be in the house if and when whoever it is comes back.’
‘Well, why don’t I just ask your mum to come and get James? That’s the better idea. She won’t mind and that’s easier all round.’
‘Fine. Do that then.’ Ed shrugs. ‘But I’m not going anywhere today. I’m staying put, and that’s that.’
* * *
I go back up at half past ten to check on Sandrine and ask her if she’d like anything to drink, but she’s asleep, so I don’t disturb her, just creep back down to the kitchen where Ed is staring at his screen and writing an email.
‘Is she OK?’ he asks as I sit back down at my laptop.
‘She’s flat out. I left her asleep, poor thing.’
We fall silent – I hate how quiet it is without James in the house – and I return to copy-editing chapter eight of All That Sparkles. The title is an ambitious claim, but it’s a reasonably clean manuscript – although the author has a thing for people closing their eyes and her characters ‘realising’ things, which is driving me slightly nuts, as well as a penchant for ridiculously long sentences – but even that withstanding, I can’t concentrate. The words are swimming in front of me, and when my mobile starts to ring, it’s a very welcome distraction.
Except, when I glance at the screen, it’s the estate agent.
‘Hello?’ I snatch up the phone.
‘Hello, Mrs Casson-Davies,’ a voice says warmly, and I don’t bother to correct them. This is Linda from Grantly-Brocken. I’ve just had your purchaser on the phone—’
‘And?’ I ask in dismay.
‘He’d like to pop over to measure up for some white goods today for when he refits the kitchen. We’ve got keys so we could accompany him this afternoon?’
‘No, you haven’t got keys actually. We had the locks changed.’ I realise, feeling ill with relief that the buyer isn’t pulling out. ‘We’ll have to drop some new ones round.’
‘If you could, please,’ she says smoothly. ‘We are due to exchange on Friday, I see, and we will need to hold a set for completion to go ahead.’
‘OK. Can I get back to you about this afternoon in a bit, and let you know if we’ll be here to let you in?’
‘That would be super. Thanking you, Mrs Davies… Casson!’
I roll my eyes, and hang up. ‘The agents want to visit this afternoon to measure the kitchen. And we have to get them the new keys or we can’t complete.’
‘Leave that with me. I’ll sort it,’ Ed says. ‘And I’ll call them in a minute and fix another time for them to come round. I’m not having them in the house today.’
My phone rings again. This time it reads ‘Christa NCT’. I brace myself for a more potentially difficult conversation and pick up. ‘Hey, Christa. How are you?’
‘I’m OK, thanks, Jess, but,’ Christa clears her throat, ‘I’ve had a weird email from Natalia…’
I take a deep breath. Here we go. ‘Oh right? Saying what?’
‘It was pretty strange, even by Natalia’s standards. She started by going off on one about being aware she’s the black sheep of the group and she knows mothering doesn’t come naturally to her in the way it does for some of us. Then she went on to say that she’s known our feelings on some of her methods and approaches weren’t complimentary, but that she’s always been grateful that we’ve not corrected her, or criticised her in any way. So she was devastated to be told by you that we all secretly find her “impossible, rude” and, hang on – let me double-check this – “snotty and offensive”. There’s then this weird bit about you, which I’m actually not going to read aloud because I know it will upset you, but it basically says you not being a first-time mum like the rest of us made her feel particularly inadequate, although you were always “really sweet” to her, so she feels especially betrayed to discover you’re not the person she thought you were.’
Exhausted, I put my head in my hand. ‘Right. And does she go on to say what she means by that?’
There is a horribly uncomfortable pause and then Christa says. ‘Yes. She does. You fell pregnant with Beth after an affair with a married man, and told your then husband it was his baby.’
I straighten up. ‘She actually wrote that in an email to all of you?’
Ed stops what he’s doing and looks at me.
‘Yes, she did. Jess? Are you still there?’
‘I’m still here. I just don’t know what to say.’
‘Well I’ve spoken with all of the other girls about it, and while Natalia is obviously very, very upset about whatever it is that’s happened between you two—’
‘She heard me bitching about her to Ed,’ I interrupt. ‘I called her number by mistake and she overheard me say that I’m not the only one to find her difficult; we’ve all said at times she can be rude and offensive.’
‘Ah – I see,’ says Christa.
‘She thought I’d phoned her “accidentally on purpose” because I wanted her to know what we all really think of her. Which is not true, obviously. I’d just had a tough day and was letting off steam. We all do it; I’m sure I’ve done things that have annoyed you and you’ve told Jack about them. You don’t have to answer that,’ I say quickly.
‘I actually haven’t,’ she corrects me, ‘but the point is, me and the girls just wanted to say, whatever you did back then doesn’t matter to us, and Natalia shouldn’t have used that to hurt you, just because she was upset. Everyone is entitled to a past and yours is – well…’ she stumbles slightly. ‘Let’s just say we think you’ve suffered enough already, without all of this being dragged up again.’
I hesitate. I’ve suffered enough? What does that mean exactly? They’re satisfied I’ve been more than punished for my past transgressions? Or given the fact my daughter died they’re willing to overlook my being a slag, on this occasion?
But I stay silent. Like so many of the things that people say in reference to Beth that unwittingly hurt me, I don’t pick her up on it; half the time, I don’t know if it’s them – or me.
‘I’m very grateful to you for ringing,’ I manage eventually. ‘Obviously I’d also really appreciate it if this is something that goes no further, and stays between all of us.’
‘Oh God, absolutely,’ Christa says quickly. ‘That was another reason for calling, to let you know we’ve deleted all of the emails and NONE of us will ever mention it to anyone. We can’t vouch for Natalia obviously, but hopefully when she’s calmed down…’